“Come,” he said. “Mayhap DelfLord Balor will be free. If not, I will show you to quarters while you await an audience.”
Rather than risk the horses to the steps, Brekk turned leftward. Down a ramp all went, at the bottom of which they swung to the right and thence to the drawbridge. As they passed over, Aylis looked down. The walls of the abyss were smooth and sheer and dropped straight for as far as the eye could see and vanished into dark depths below. “How deep is this?”
“I know not,” said Aravan, while just ahead of them Brekk turned up a hand as if saying, Who knows?
As they reached the floor of the War Hall, Brekk called a Dwarf to him, and bade him to lead the horses to the stables, as well to deliver the possessions of the visitors unto the guest quarters. Then rightward he turned to escort the travellers across the hall, toward one of the many exits leading off into passages carved through the stone. On the way to the opening they passed two of the many giant red-granite columns supporting the roof of the chamber. On each pillar the figure of a Dragon was carved twining up and around the great fluted shaft.
Into the passageway they stepped, and up a flight of stairs and then another and another, the group turning left and right and left and . . . At the top of yet another flight of stairs, they came into a long, narrow chamber, where a rune-covered archway athwart the midpoint spanned the full of the width. Aylis looked about, a slight frown of concentration on her face. “The aethyr of this stone is different from that which we have passed through ere now.”
“Bair said something of the like when last I was here,” said Aravan.
“This is the Hall of the Gravenarch,” said Brekk. “Here it was that Braggi and his warband made their last stand, but the Ghath came and slew him and his valiant raiders. Some years later, during the Winter War, to hinder the Ghath, the Deevewalkers broke the arch and the ceiling collapsed. Some two hundred and thirty-one years after that war, we retook Kraggen-cor from the Grg. A decade or so later, we restored the chamber.”
“I assume this tale is in The Ravenbook,” said Aylis.
“Not Braggi’s tale, but that of the Deevewalkers is,” replied Aravan. “Also in the book is appended the story of the War of Kraggen-cor. Last summer, Faeril gave me a copy of the combine. I sent it by messenger to Long Tom to place it in the Eroean’s library. Thou canst read it there.”
Out from the Hall of the Gravenarch they passed, turning leftward along a corridor. “Here we are on the Sixth Rise,” said Brekk. “The Great Hall lies just ahead.”
Now they came into a huge, dimly lighted chamber, fully a half mile from end to end and a quarter mile across. And in the center and surrounded by glowing, phosphorescent lanterns sitting on pedestals of stone, mid a seated gathering of Dwarves armed and armored for battle, stood DelfLord Balor, explaining a particular tactic of war.
“We train here,” explained Brekk.
Balor, his dark hair shot through with silver, and dressed in black-iron chain, warmly greeted Aravan and was introduced to Aylis. Leaving Brekk to continue the lesson, the DelfLord led the visitors to a side hall, wherein they were served tea and scones to assuage their appetites until the evening meal. When the Dwarven page left them to themselves, Balor asked, “What brings you to my holt?”
“With your permission, DelfLord, I’ve come to recruit a warband to serve on the Eroean,” said Aravan.
Balor smiled. “So you are returning to the sea.” Then a look of puzzlement filled his grey eyes. “But why Kraggen-cor? Is it not true that your warbands of the past came from the Red Hills?”
“Two reasons, my lord: first, many of the Red Hills Drimma came here after you retook this holt from the Rûpt. And as is my wont, I like to have the descendants of those who served with me in the past be the ones to serve in the present, for the strength of proven blood ofttimes runs true.”
Balor nodded. “Indeed. And you may gather your forty from among my warriors. The experience will benefit them, I would think.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Aravan.
Balor frowned, as if trying to capture an elusive memory; then he brightened. “Captain Brekk can assist you, Aravan, for I believe that one of his ancestors sailed on the Eroean long past.”
“Oh,” said Aravan. “Dost thou recall his name?”
“Bokar, it was, I think.”
“Ah, yes. Armsmaster Bokar. I remember him well,” said Aravan.
“As do I,” said Aylis, for he had been the Dwarven warband leader in those days millennia agone when she had sailed upon the Eroean ere the destruction of Rwn.
Aravan’s gaze lost its focus as he remembered times past. Then he said, “A mighty warrior was Bokar, and if Brekk is anything like his ancestor . . .”
“He is one of my finest captains,” said Balor.
“Then done and done,” said Aravan. “Brekk will be my new armsmaster.”
Balor then cocked an eyebrow and asked, “And the second reason you are here . . . ?”
“I need a pound of starsilver,” said Aravan, grinning.
Balor broke into laughter and said, “As you did Khana Durek, so you do me. But must it be a whole pound?”
“Aye, for ’tis time the keel and underside coat of the Eroean needs replenishing.”
Balor shook his head and sighed. “Starsilver used as an ingredient in paint for a ship’s hull. It seems a waste.”
“Not a waste, my lord,” said Aravan, “for barnacles cannot cling to starsilver and it rejects growth, hence my ship will run all the faster with her argent bottom. And as you know, you will profit well beyond the measure of the silveron’s worth.”
Balor smiled and said, “We are currently working the lode nigh the Lair of the Ghath. I will send a message for a pound to be newly delved and refined for your use.”
Just after breaking fast the next day, as Aravan, with Brekk’s aid, began recruiting a warband, Aylis sought out Balor.
“Starsilver mining and refining: Might I go and see how this is done?” asked Aylis. “Besides, Aravan said that the Gargon broke free of its lair, and I would see that place, if I might.”
Balor swept a hand toward the far reaches of Kraggen-cor and said, “It would be my pleasure to guide you myself.”
Balor and Aylis saddled two ponies and, following a trade road that had one terminus at the Dawn Gate and the other at the Dusk Door, they set out along the road, with its twisting but gently sloped up and down stone passages that would take them nigh the silveron vein lying some thirty-six miles away. As they journeyed, Aylis spoke of the taking of the black fortress, and the need for the Châkka to learn the rite for the crossing of the Planes. The morning waxed as they rode, though, underground as they were, Aylis could but guess as to the mark of the day; nevertheless, she took Balor at his word when he said that the noontide had come. They stopped by an undermountain stream for a meal and to feed and water the ponies, but took up the ride shortly after. “Even though we are pressing the pace,” said Balor, “it will be two candlemarks after sunset when we arrive. My lady, I would not have you overtired, and so we will stay the morrow and return the day after.” Onward they rode, and Aylis spoke of the days she and Aravan had had on the Eroean.
At last they came to a small underground community, where the starsilver miners were quartered. As they arrived at the stable, two young Dwarves—no more than teens, for their beards were not yet in evidence—took the animals back into the stalls to care for them. Balor then guided Aylis to a mess hall, where they took a meal along with Dwarven miners, after which to the gathering therein, Aylis told of the taking of the Black Fortress, this time speaking fluent Châkur.
The next morning Balor guided her along a pathway and over a bridge under which water flowed, and thence they went along a shelf toward where starsilver lay. Just ahead was a breach in the stone, and beyond that stood a chamber, one whose floor and walls and ceiling were crisscrossed with jagged silveron veins. As Aylis entered she noted a faint foul odor on the air, which seemed to
emanate from a huge stone slab centered in the room. Rectangular it was and with a flat top, rather like a dais, and it held carvings along the sides. And along the sides as well were runes smeared in dark ichor. Aylis frowned and then said a word, then translated aloud, “Tuuth Uthor.”
“That was the name of the Ghath,” said Balor.
“This then is the Gargon’s Lair?”
“Aye.”
“And you did not remove his name?”
“It reminds us of our shame,” said Balor. “We fled.”
“It is no shame to flee a Gargon,” said Aylis. “They are Fearcasters.”
“Nevertheless,” said Balor.
At the far end along one side a wide stone doorway gaped, and from beyond came the sounds of hammers striking chisels and the chanking and clanging of a working mine.
Balor led Aylis through the opening, and there she saw Dwarves cutting silveron-laden rock from the walls.
“Here lies that which is more precious than diamond,” said Balor, gesturing widely.
“And you are giving a pound to Aravan,” said Aylis.
Balor merely nodded.
After a moment, Aylis looked back toward the Gargon’s Lair. “Yet you do not mine the starsilver in that place?”
Balor shook his head. “As I said, it serves to remind us of our shame. Mayhap if such a thing happens again, we will not flee.”
And perhaps you will die needlessly, thought Aylis; she did not say it aloud.
At a gesture from Balor, one of the miners brought a small sample of the stone to the DelfLord, who handed it to Aylis. She looked at the rock with its scintillant glitter, then handed it back.
Balor said, “We find it five ways: veins, sheets, flakes, nuggets, and as an ore. The veins, flakes, sheets, and nuggets take little or no refinement, but this”—he held up the stone—“is the hardest to separate from the rock. We crush it to a fine dust and wash it down a very long sluiceway, and the heavier starsilver sinks to the bottom and is trapped by retaining bars, while the lighter stone powder is carried away.”
“I see,” said Aylis, and again she looked back at the Lair.
“Would you like to examine the Lost Prison?” asked Balor.
“Indeed. In fact, if you don’t mind, I would use my powers to
Balor turned up a hand and inclined his head in assent.
As Aylis stepped back into the Lair, Balor followed and stood silently by.
Aylis laid a hand on the upraised block, and then muttered an arcane word and after a moment said, “Four. There are four events of significance here.”
She fell silent and closed her eyes. Heartbeats passed, and then she smiled and said, “Ah, that’s how it was made.”
More moments passed, and she gasped. “It comes, the Gargon.” Her heart raced, for once before she had faced such a Demon, in a dreamwalk with the Pysk Jinnarin. “It is but a vision of things long past,” Aylis murmured a time or two, the mantra settling her fast-beating pulse. Then she smiled and said, “The trap is sprung.”
After still another moment she gasped and with unseeing eyes looked toward the gaping hole and cried, “Oh, Adon, it’s loose! It’s loose! No-no-no-no, the slaughter, the terrible slaughter.” Aylis, weeping, broke free of the vision and turned to Balor and, sobbing, leaned into him.
At a loss, Balor stood rigid for a heartbeat or two, but then embraced the Seeress and silently held her till the weeping subsided.
Finally, Aylis took a deep breath and Balor released her. She stepped away and said, “Forgive me, DelfLord, but it was a terrible thing I
“The Châkka, they could do nought?” he asked.
“Nothing,” replied Aylis. “The Fearcaster’s gaze froze them.”
“As we thought,” said Balor.
Long moments passed in silence, but at last Aylis said, “There is one more event I would
But Balor held up a hand of caution. “My lady, are you certain you would see this thing? I would not have you suffer again.”
Aylis’s heart went out to the stalwart Dwarf who sought to protect her from perhaps a vision of sorrow. “Lord Balor, I thank you, yet whether it is a revelation of distress or joy, it is one which I must
Balor sighed and inclined his head in acquiescence.
Aylis braced herself and laid a hand on the slab and whispered an arcane word. Once more she wept, this time softly, at the
The following day, Aylis and Balor returned to the eastern end of the Dwarvenholt. But Aylis was not finished with her
In all, Aravan and Brekk needed three days to choose the thirty-nine other Dwarven members of the warband, and they had just begun making preparations for the journey south to the Eroean.
That night Aravan said, “Thou didst vanish, Chier. I slept alone yesternight and the night before.”
“I was learning about starsilver, love, and winnowing out signal events. Perhaps one day I will tell you what I gathered. Besides, you were busy, and what better way for me to while away the time? And as for sleeping alone, well, so did I.”
“Thou art not yet ready to tell me what thou didst glean from thy study?”
Aylis smiled and said, “Not yet,” but Aravan noted her eyes were glistening, as of tears unshed. He said nought, but simply took her in his arms and held her close.
That night they made tender love, and the next morning Aravan left the holt and took to wing as a falcon and flew toward Darda Erynian, the Great Greenhall, that forest lying eastward nigh fifty leagues and across the River Argon. It was therein where Aravan hoped to recruit a special scout.
The next morning as well Aylis closeted herself with DelfLord Balor and the holt’s Loremasters and she related to them what she had learned concerning the Gargon’s Lair and the relevant events thereafter. Even then her eyes filled with tears, as did those of the Châkka listening, and they cast their hoods over their heads at the telling of when the Gargon broke free and slew the miners who had inadvertently set it loose. They wept as well when she spoke of how Braggi and his raiders were slaughtered by that dreadful monster. Yet they cast back their hoods and shouted, “Châkka shok! Châkka cor!” and “Brega, Bekki’s Son!” and “Hál, Deevewalkers!” when she told how that Fearcaster had met its doom.
That evening, as Aylis returned to her quarters, lost in contemplation, she took a wrong turn and wandered into corridors heretofore untrodden by her. And as she started down another of these, at the far end she noted several veiled and graceful beings shepherding a number of chattering Châkka offspring at the distant end of a long corridor. Without thought, Aylis spoke an arcane word invoking her
Oh, my, they are all male children, and those with them—females they are, and long past their childhood—yet their
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